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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743938">Morosis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/foghoorn/pseuds/foghoorn'>foghoorn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Addiction, Art, Mental Health Issues, Other, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, trigger warning for heavy mental health topics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:41:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/foghoorn/pseuds/foghoorn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"A purpose will find you-- you will be burdened with it one day."</p>
<p>After a failed suicide attempt and strange circumstances, Ezra tries to find a new lease of life by signing up for a mystery job with new acquaintance Lucian Jacobs. A strange few weeks working with him reveal he is not who he seems to be, rather Loki, the god of mischief.<br/>With even more strange events happening around Ezra and an Asgardian god as a friend, they are determined to find out the root of these problems, and more importantly, Ezra’s purpose.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Loki (Marvel)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi guys :) it's been a while. i hope someone finds this and enjoys it because i'm writing it as my coping mechanism, i'm also going through addiction withdrawal rn and it's super rough. just a trigger warning for suicide/self harm/mental health issues if you struggle with any and are especially sensitive, maybe go and read a different story. love you all &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>For what felt like the thousandth time in my life, I couldn’t breathe. Asphyxiation wrapped around my lungs as I frantically tried to break free from the grips of this dream. There was so much I could handle and resist, but this endless cycle of nightmarish feelings that had continued for years was my weakness. Compared to real life, I couldn’t just break free from this. The dark hands that suffocated me were relentless and would not let go with any of my attempts. At this point, I felt like I had a level of conscience in this state, knowing that nothing I would do could stop the pain I was enduring. Like a ragdoll, I let myself fall into the grips of this malevolent presence with no hope.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was so dark, the sky was an endless abyss of dark clouds. I had never seen a light source in this place, I had never seen anyone else in this place. It was just me and this dark presence, eternal torture until I snapped out of my dreams. My eyes rolled back and I felt myself drift out of my nightmarish state.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even due to the state of my dreams, I never broke a sweat. Quite surprisingly, the complete opposite happened, waking cold was the norm at this point. I had tried everything around the planet to alleviate these nightmares but nothing had ever worked. I turned to drugs, to alcohol, to every healthy and unhealthy mitigation and nothing worked. I couldn’t begin to describe how painful this experience was internally, like a constant stabbing at my organs with a dull but potent knife. The only thing I could really do now to distract myself was to try and be productive or just do something to occupy my mind. I couldn’t help but to hold onto a handful of terrible coping mechanisms because I had nothing to fall onto anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I roused from my perpetually unmade bed. I’d never cared much for self care or even care of my possessions. Life was temporary and I spent enough energy dealing with my nights that laying out my bed sheets neatly or performing basic hygiene many days was necessary. I felt disgusting at the worst of times, knowing that if someone took a lot into my terribly mundane life, they’d probably laugh in disapproval at the waste of space I am. My room was sparse for the same reasons, with only a bed, a bedside table, an old lamp and the corner of piled clothes. I pulled a musty hoodie from the pile and tugged it over my pyjamas, as per usual. I ran on autonomy, my routine was the same most days, and that brought me comfort. I lost control, I lost the headspace to cope, and this was my shot at regaining that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I kicked the door open with a small burst of energy and dragged myself to the kitchen, where my nose guided me to the aroma of unbrewed coffee. As I said, unhealthy coping mechanisms, caffeine being one of them. I switched the coffee machine on and waited for my midnight dose of caffeine to brew. I let my mind wander.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’d definitely always wondered if I didn’t remember when these nightmares started because it was a trauma response. I had an uneventful childhood, no siblings, and parents that neither cared nor cared too much about me. I felt more like a tenant than their own child. It all went downhill after I got so overwhelmed with life that I felt obliged to come out to my family. They weren’t particularly accepting and felt the need to ignore me more than beforehand in response. This pushed me over the edge and I left the house at 17, just short of my 18th birthday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I squatted in an abandoned schoolhouse for a while. It was familiar to me, as I had passed it many times in my childhood, remembering the uniformed children behind the large gates and the shrieks of their joy. I was invisible at my school and that was fine with me, better invisible than seen and bullied. It never left my head that I would be subject to countless bullies if I stepped out of the shadows so I saved my sanity and kept in them. Not that I wanted to step out anyway, I couldn’t help but to have a bad feeling about the school the whole time I spent there. The schoolhouse I stayed in was cold and rotting, but better than complete homelessness. I was lucky to have some sort of roof over my head and a job to get me back on my feet. I’d spent the last years of my studies working in a DIY store, mixing paint for a living. It didn’t earn me a lot of money, but got me enough to stay on my feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I came back one day to find the building in the process of being demolished. Luckily I’d sensed that something was different that day and took all my belongings with me, so I did not lose anything to the mechanical claws that tore that building down. It didn’t stop me from feeling some sort of loss, as this was the first place I’d made my own. I’d taken scrap paint samples from my workplace back with me several times and painted on the walls. I let my mind run free and by the time my focus was back on the task, the walls were covered with intricate patterns. I couldn’t help but to feel proud of my work at times, as it was one of the only things that would maybe make me seen in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, I took the time to count my coins. I had that sense again, that feeling that something was going to happen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I had enough money to rent a place somewhere closer to the heart of things, as long as I jumped the train fence and hopped on a train. It was risky, but I took the chance. This was what I felt should be my future. London, pursuing my creative passion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was cheesy, but I always felt like I was in some moody teen drama staring out of the train window. I could imagine something like Roslyn by St. Vincent and Bon Iver playing as the dimming sky framed the racing trees outside the train carriage. I didn’t have the privilege of music at this point, but it didn’t stop me from using my time at work on the computers and popping into libraries to utilise their internet as well. It was something that brought me back to society, as I felt so alienated at this point. I hoped that this change would bring me closer to the world, rather than confining me to my own one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That brings me to now. The same old flat, the same old London. I worked in a small art gallery and earned a living. A boring life, but I could be myself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not only was I respected for my identity, but I felt comfortable around the people I worked with. Being non-binary was not something that was easy to understand for many people, but people were willing to listen to me. I had never been listened to in my life and I felt safe in such company. Although I did not have “friends”, my colleagues were very much close to my heart. They filled the family-shaped void I had in my heart, at least temporarily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Groaning, I picked up the coffee and downed it in a single swoop. Caffeine gave me a buzz, almost electric, that could never be experienced through any other means. I built a habit of waking at midnight and starting my day from then, as I found the streets so calming to wander this late at night. That’s what I did for the hours until sunrise, wandering London aimlessly, thinking. There were massive issues with such endeavours, I had gotten myself into a lot of issues as my thoughts turned too dark. I turned to self harm a few years ago and that addiction has never stopped. There have been so many instances where I have cried in the park for hours, only finding the strength to harm myself. Ambulances have been called on me so many times but I was an expert and weaseling out of these sorts of conversations at this point. My arms and legs were scarred past the point of no return and I accepted that. It was something I couldn’t give up so easily anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I turned to my front door, picking up my thick winter coat and torch before exiting the worn-round-the-edges building. I learnt not to take the same route every night, because I was so paranoid that someone would come for me. I knew I’d be safe in the end, but it didn’t scrap those feelings from my head. The air was cold tonight, as I breathed out a small cloud of translucent air. I felt terrible for doing this, but my life had felt like a constant repeat of the same terrible thoughts every day and I needed to break the cycle. I planned to head to one of the bridges around here and just sit and think, but gave myself the chance to jump. The same sentence repeated in my head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Break the cycle.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. *Non-Writing* First Look at Ezra Greenwood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hey y'all! Whilst writing the next chapter of this, I started drawing some fanart for Ezra. I have an idea of what the characters look like for the time being and hopefully I'll have a similar thing up for Lucian/Loki, but it makes sense to wait until he's introduced into the text as well for that. He'll likely end up first meeting the MC in the next chapter, but it'll be brief for sure!</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://imgur.com/rba4yG0">
    
  </a>
</p>
<p>!!The art is mine and created by me. If you utilise it please give credit to me!!</p>
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